


A Dove and a Hound

by SierraLaufeyson13



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gravedigger Theory, fluff? but not really, wow I love Sandor so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6720577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraLaufeyson13/pseuds/SierraLaufeyson13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A once broken Dove must save her wounded Hound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dove and a Hound

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently read the books of A Song of Fire and Ice (and now am waiting for the next book), and have begun watching the Game of Thrones show, and I must say, I am a sucker for the Hound, especially as portrayed by Rory McCann. This one-shot turned out to be a bit longer than initially expected but I incorporated the Gravedigger theory, which I hope to be proven true in upcoming books/shows.

Arya Stark looked at the bleak landscape around where they had made camp, the Riverlands were cragged with sharp boulders and high patches of land that would hurt terribly if you fell from their heights. The names rolled off her tongue, the same as they did every night, she had only just come to the Queen's name when she heard the scraping of boots on a rock nearby, " _Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water_ ," by now the words of Syrio Forel had been burned into her memory. "What the bloody hell are you going on about now, girl?" The rasp of the Hound's voice made her jump, she cursed him and looked back up at the night sky, watching for shadows when she heard the soft noise again.

"We're being watched," The Stark girl turned to face the Hound, her hand resting on the hilt of Needle. His laugh cut through the air, a rough sound that hurt her ears in a strange way, a man like the Hound should never laugh. "Here, in the middle of fucking nowhere?" His scarred face looked all the more hideous with the light of the fire licking at his skin. "Finish your list, girl, then go the fuck to sleep." Arya frowned, once more she looked around at the land and saw nothing but the boulders and empty plains, but she knew someone was out there.

Sandor Clegane would not admit it but the Stark girl's warning of them being watched was the reason he stayed up more than half the night. The Hound stood, as quietly as a man his size could, with his sword in hand he searched behind the nearest boulders, but there was nothing. He turned to return to camp when the muffled cry of a woman reached his ears, the sound had woken Arya too.

He stumbled upon nothing more than a girl, older than the Stark girls surely, but a girl nonetheless. She was huddled within the crack of the rock that was large enough so only an injured leg was exposed. "Come any closer and I'll put a fucking arrow through your eye!" The bow in her hands was broken, he could tell that much, even if she held the two wooden pieces together so it appeared to be whole. The Hound looked at her closely, seeing that there was an arrow pierced through her calf, swollen, no doubt infected. A sense of pity overtook him when he saw the moon shine down upon her scarlet hair.

"With a broken bow and an arrow in your leg? I'd pay a couple hundred silver stags to see that done." Sandor drove his sword into the dirt and awkwardly knelt next to her, looking over the wound. He could feel her eyes on him, her gaze near burning. "Who are you?" It was peculiar, he looked familiar in a strange way as if she had seen him in passing.

She could tell he was trying to unstiffen the rasp of his voice, "No one, little Dove," the man extended his hand, the soft white light of the moon softening the sight of the hideous scar on his face. The girl looked at him uncertainly, "Well go on, kill me and get it over with," the Hound recoiled like he had been bitten, he cursed the nerve of the girl to deny help, she closed her eyes and waited, no longer fearing death nor pain. The mercy blow never came, it took a moment to realize she had been lifted from her hiding spot and into the burly and heavily armored arms of the person who had found her.

Arya wore a surprised expression when the Hound returned. He placed the girl against the boulder nearest the fire that had been weathered down to be like a chair of sorts. Arya stood silently and listened, for once she was acting like a decent lady; perhaps the old Septa Mordane would have finally been proud. "Marleina Woodgard," in the better light of the fire Arya saw a resemblance of her sister, Sansa, but she would have been older than Sansa, the age was written on her tired face.

"Woodgard?" Marleina nodded, recognizing the boyish looking girl that had come to stand before her, a daughter of the late Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. "Your father is one of the Stark Bannerman?" She wondered if the news had reached her about the death of the Robb Stark but thought it best not to mention it.

A sadness washed over Marleina's fair features, one that Arya had seen in her mother when they were leaving for King's Landing; that had felt like ages ago. "Was, the Greyjoys took Winterfell and the Lannisters sacked and burned my home and family." The young girl had nothing to say in response, she only turned, picking up a half-empty wineskin that had been filled with water and a piece of cured meat. "Thank you, Arya." The silence had long been a friend but now in the company of others she hated the days she had spent crawling across the countryside, fearing the next time she went to sleep she would not see the next sunrise. "Think I'll end up losing it?" She patted her thigh, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that the action caused to creep down to her calf.

The Hound was reluctant to admit it to himself but he saw himself within her, even if it was just a sliver, they were survivors; "If you've gone on this long it'll take more than an arrow to kill ya." Her laugh was dry, humorless, and hardly feminine compared to her face, there was a grimness to Marleina that perhaps in time he could come to enjoy, but for now she was a nuisance, a hindrance, something standing between him and collecting the reward for delivering the Stark girl to her own kin.

"May I have your name, good ser?" The man turned his back to her and she could see the tangled and twisted mass of scars that overtook half of his face, pocketing the skin with small craters and cracks. "I am no _ser_ ," the Hound snapped, Marleina shrank away, feeling foolish that she had made such assumptions of his person and honor. She barely heard him when he spoke his name as his voice was oddly quiet. "Sandor Clegane," she had heard the name before and the horrors associated with House Clegane, the Hound, and the Mountain that Rides, the only two left. At her silence, a dour smirk took over his face, and he turned with hair mussed by the wind so it could not conceal the scarring, "What's wrong little Dove? Never seen a killer before?"

Marleina scoffed, his play on a threat may have worked on fair ladies who had never seen the likes of war and death, albeit being the daughter of a lesser lord, she had seen her family slaughtered and killed a good many Lannisters before deserting her post after what happened at the Twins. "I have seen many and I see one every time I pass my reflection, _Hound_ ," that seemed enough to shut him up. Her gaze settled on Arya and after a long silence she spoke, "Where are you taking her?" The two were an odd traveling party that much was sure, a Hound and a wolf.

"The Vale, she has an Aunt there," his answer surprised her. She hadn't expected a man known for such savagery to do a thing, even if there was plenty of coin involved. A hush fell over them and silently the Hound stood and picked up the threadbare blanket from his bedroll, he draped it over Marleina's shoulders not ungently. "You best rest up, tomorrow you'll be a hell of a lot of pain."

X

Her breeches had been torn off at the knee and now the procedure was to begin. What Marleina feared most was an infection as they were hardly in a clean environment and there was not a Maester near that could be called upon. Arya had leaped from the ground and strode forward, gripping the shaft the arrow as if she meant to tear it from the flesh. Sandor pushed her away with enough force that she stumbled back and onto her ass. "We can't just pull it out, stupid girl!" The two bickered. " _Seven hells_ , I _am_ going to lose my leg." The Woodgard girl slumped back against the rock with crossed arms.

Arya Stark crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side in a way that was meant to challenge the Hound, "Then how you gone get it out?" Marleina half-wondered how the two had managed to travel for so long without killing each other, perhaps it was friendly banter, but she doubted that.

Sandor knelt next to the girl and placed the heel of her foot on his knee, he had seen many injured with bows, was even struck himself once in the arm. The old Maester that had healed him said that it was always unwise to pull an arrow from the body. He didn't necessarily understand the reasons why but the wisdom resurfaced. "It'll be easier to break off the fletching and pass it through." The Stark girl said nothing and went off to fetch the small kit of bandages and such they had acquired. The Hound took the shaft of the arrow and broke off the fletching, leaving the tip broken and splintered.

Knowing better than pull the arrow out as it was now, he produced a small knife and whittled away the splinters, producing a tapered point. Arya dropped a piece of cloth and a wineskin filled with fresh water next to the Hound and watched. Blood had begun seeping out around the entry and exit of the arrow shaft, satisfied that his woodwork would do the Hound steadied her leg and pulled on the iron-forged arrowhead. "Breathe in little Dove," she did as he said but her hands dug into the earth below her. Easing the wooden shaft through as gently and quickly as possible was a difficult challenge but when the taper point emerged the work was done. The water that was dumped on the open wounds stung, but the coolness of welcomed. Sandor tossed the skin back to Arya. "Get some more water, girl."

Marleina's face was a twisted in pain, but she did not cry. "Fuck the water, wine, bring me wine," the Hound howled with laughter as he pulled out a needle and thread. Arya's eyes widened in mock horror. "Gods be good she's just like _you_." By the time the Stark girl returned with a full wineskin of water from the brook flowing near where they had settled for the night, Sandor had already finished the needlework, it was sloppy and would leave a scar but she could not have done much better. Though it was a risky move, the trio remained in the same place for Marleina's sake.

X

It had to have been a month since the three had met, she had healed well, but over long distances or strenuous terrain a limp would appear in her step. The first time it had happened Sandor slung her over his shoulder, carrying her like a sack of flour. Arya had laughed as Marleina pounded on the Hound's back, insisting that she could walk. Having the company of another girl made her realize how much she missed her mother, and even Sansa, she didn't even know if Sansa was still alive in truth.

Just as planned they arrived at the Bloody Gate, one step closer to the Vale. The news that had been delivered by the guards was the last thing the Hound wanted to hear. The Stark girl's aunt had died. So they turned back, trekking across the Riverlands once again, unsure of where to go. There was a small village not far from where they had made camp for the night, Marleina had taken a handful of silver stags to replace their stock of ointments and bandages, buy some decent food, and if there was enough left, maybe even snag a bottle of summer wine. The supplies were slung over her back in a makeshift pack when she returned to where their bedrolls had been laid out, but there was no one there.

"Arya!" She knew it was foolish to yell, but she could not help the panic that came over her. "Sandor?" The Woodgard girl reached for the short blade at her hip, she was still clumsy with a sword in hand, but they never came across a bow. The rattle of armor and heavy footfalls from behind her startled her. "Who the fuck are you?" Marleina was looking at a woman clad in armor, she was homely looked, but the Valyrian steel of her drawn sword was enough for the girl to lower her weapon.

"Brienne of Tarth and this is Podrick." She motioned to the squire boy at her side and replaced the gleaming sword into its scabbard. Marleina laughed, "Never heard of you. I'm looking for two persons. One's a girl, short hair, boyish looking. Other one's a man, tall, burnt face. Seen 'em?" There was protection in pretending to be a peasant and not a highborn Lady from the House Woodgard, so she dumbed down her speech.

The woman looked down at her curiously, "Arya Stark and the Hound?" Marleina nodded. "The girl, she fled when I offered her my protection. The other one, I daresay he is dead now." Brown eyes reminiscent of a doe's widen in shock. _It couldn't be_ , she refused to believe that Sandor had been killed. "Come with us, we can help you, keep you safe." In the moment, Brienne saw her as a frightened child to take pity on.

"I am appreciative of the offer but I'm afraid I must say no. I can manage." The pair said nothing more and parted without confrontation, she watched as they disappeared over the hilly landscape before running. She nearly tumbled down a hill in her haste. There was a glint of tarnished silver in the sun and that is where she ran to. The sight made her want to cry, but she couldn't. When she knelt next to him, his eyes were closed and she failed to notice the rise and fall of his chest at first, though when she touched his cheek he startled, wrapping his hand around her delicate little wrist.

There was something in her eyes, not pity, but a look that he had never had cast his way. His grip on her wrist slackened, falling away completely. She looked over his shoulder, the cuts on his face, and the large wound with part of a broken blade still lodged within it on his thigh. Straining at the slight movement, he tugged free a small dagger with a golden hilt and pommel and placed it within Marleina's hand. "Listen to me, Marleina, kill me, please," she stilled, it was the first time he had spoken her name, it sounded so different in the fading rasp of his voice, but he had spoken it sweetly. "Get on with it."

Her grip on the hilt tightened but her arm was frozen in place, unwilling to move. "I can't," she breathed, fervidly shaking her head. The Hound cursed her in silence as she drove the blade into the ground. "You helped me, allow me to return the favor."

Marleina wet a strip of cloth and dabbed it over his face until he turned his head away from her, nearly snarling his words like an aggrieved dog, "If you think I'm some wounded pup that you can redeem you're stupider than I thought." She paid no mind to his hateful words, "Be still," she chided, gently, as a mother would speak to a child who refused their medicine. Marleina pulled the pack of supplies from her back and sifted through them until she came to a wineskin filled with Dornish sour red, but Sandor was thinking of the tune he had heard the Imp sing before, humming it up and down the halls of the Red Keep. _I loved a maid as red as autumn with sunset in her hair_. "Drink some, not much, though."

She had gone to the river to collect water several times over until the limp had come back within her walk. The wine had eased his pain and while she cleaned the scrapes and bruises to the best of her ability he was in a trance like state, eyes lazily following her movements. Marleina sat resolutely at his side, determined to keep watch for the night and if the gods were kind they would spare her hound. She prayed to all but the Stranger but was half-tempted to try her luck.

A lantern in the night keep Marleina's focus as it drew nearer, she wrangled her sword from its sheath and stood. The rickety old wagon thumped along the trail, she thought it would simply pass them by but it stopped a couple feet away and the man steering the reins of the mules turned. He possessed a kind face, rounded from smiles and wrinkled with wisdom with eyes that were deep and thoughtful. "A lady and her knight," he mused aloud.

The Woodgard girl was quick to lower her sword, placing it back in its sheath, "Can you help us?" The old man peered over her shoulder to see the injured man she had been watching over. "Ay, I can try." Dusty brown robes dusted across the ground as he walked over to the Hound. It took all their strength to lift the large man into the bed of the wagon. She clambered to the front of the cart and sat in such a manner that she could keep watch over Sandor yet still speak freely with the driver.

"Who are you?" She was afraid her question was too harsh for the man that was carrying them to safety, yet it was the only way to ask she could think of at the moment. "A nameless healer, they call me the Elder Brother. I hail from Quiet Isle and it is where I will take you."

Marleina had heard tales of the Isle, a place where men go to atone for sins and take the vow of silence, many are veiled from the truth of what occurred beyond the island, or so she had heard. "Though women are not allowed to live there?" She knew from the talk others had said that women could visit the island briefly, but never live there, after the months with the Hound she dreaded having to part ways. "Yes. I will not force you and your knight apart." The old man turned off the main road and onto a narrower path, covered by trees and less worn.

"He's not a knight," she murmured, her eyes trailed from the road head to Sandor, knowing well he did not like being called such a thing. "My dear Lady Woodgard, I did not say he was, in title, a knight, but unless my old eyes deceive me, he appears to be _your_ knight," the old man chuckled and spared a wayward glance back to see Marleina's face had turned a vivid shade of red that was visible even in the moonlight. It would be a full day's journey to the Isle and with nothing to do she curled into herself and piled a patch of straw under her head.

X

A month and Sandor was as well as he would ever be. The damage done to his leg had caused a limp that was likely permanent. She wondered if he hated her for not ending it, but on the day she had been allowed to see him, he had smiled, rather softly, and she realized it was the first time she had seen such a sight.

They were moved from the sept and into a cottage that bordered the bay, a lush field of green surrounded the house. It was a quiet, peaceful place. He had taken up the position of a gravedigger, Marleina was learning the art of healing from the Elder Brother. She was undoubtedly his most studious apprentice, a quick learner who had an even quicker wit. The herbal paste she had made was used on burns, her tutor inspected the ointment and gave a nod of approval, it was practically perfect, and on the first trial too. "Yes, very good. You will be a fine healer."

At sundown she went to the stables, guiding the large black stallion from his stall, and slung a saddle on his back with ease. She sat tall on the warhorse, Stranger was his name, somehow the Brothers had managed to retrieve the Hound's beloved horse and on days she had lessons, Marleina rode the beast back to the cottage. On this evening she could see the dark and billowing clouds moving closer in the distance, filled with lightning and rain.

Storms rolled in for the night, lightning flashed in through the window and thunder rattled her featherbed. She pulled her dressing robe and covers tighter, squeezing her eyes shut and prayed for sleep to come. It was a childish fear she had never overcome.

It would have been midnight when she stood, draped in linen sheets and walked from her room, across the cool stone floor to the other side of the house. A frown crossed her lips when she saw the bed was empty, disheartened, Marleina turned back only to bump into a solid figure. "What are you doing up?" She couldn't meet his eyes, her cheeks were flushed with red as she searched for a valid answer. "Can't sleep?" Grateful that he had spoken first, the Woodgard girl nodded sheepishly.

The hand that wrapped around her wrist was warm and calloused, yet the touch was light like she was a bird with a broken wing. Wordlessly she climbed onto the bed next to Sandor, still huddled within her layers of blankets, but not alone and even with the storm raging outside within these walls she was safe. The morning like broke through the small window in the room, only glowing embers remained in the hearth. Marleina groggily woke, noticing that she was not within her rooms and the original occupant of the bed was gone. It almost saddened her. She changed into a simple shift and strode from the cottage, the wet grass tickling the soles of her bare feet.

Sandor was sitting down on the rocky shore of the island, his dusty brown cloak fluttering in the wind. She came to his side, sitting on the weathered rock next to him. The morning was cool and the spray of the bay kissed her cheeks. Wordlessly, the Hound pulled his cloak free and draped it around Marleina's shoulders. In comfortable silence, she pulled the coarse material to her chest and surprised herself by resting her head against his arm. It always amazed her how clear the sky could be after a storm. Content with the ways things had grown to be she hardly stopped herself from drifting into a peaceful sleep.

The sun was at its highest point when he stood and lifted the little Dove into his arms, he had asked himself many times why she chose to remain on the Quiet Isle with him. She stirred in his arms when they came to the top of the path, onto the grassy plain that surrounded the island. Upon her quiet request, the Hound placed her back onto her feet and gently, with the timidness of a mouse, she brushed her hand against his, daring to have a lingering touch as she gathered her nerve to ask something that had begun festering the pit of stomach, in the darkest part of her mind. Marleina took both his hands, though they were much larger than hers, unsure of herself she looked at their hands, and to her feet before turning her gaze back to his, "Sandor, will you kiss me?"

He laughed, thinking she was playing him for a fool, no sane woman would have wished to have his touch, his kiss. "With this ruined mouth?" The Hound couldn't manage another word, with all the strength in her small frame, Marleina fisted her hand in the woolen material of his tunic and hauled him down a foot, just to the right height where if she stood on the tips of her toes she could kiss him. And she did. He was shocked at first, but the hard exterior faded and within the moment a single strong arm hoisted her up, off the ground entirely. She pulled back for only a quick second, a wide smile growing across her lips and auburn hair shining red in the sun.

"Thank you, little Dove," her brows furrowed at the statement, and before she could be bothered to ask why, the little Dove kissed the Hound again, her thumb tentatively ran over his scarred cheek, but there was not any form of disgust or fear in her expression, there never had been. Reluctantly, he placed her back on the ground, but pulled her into his side, holding her close. For the first time since he could remember, Sandor Clegane had a handful of happy memories, and perhaps he had found something sweeter than killing. 


End file.
